


A Cover is Not the Book

by grey_toiletpaper



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Asexual Alastor (Hazbin Hotel), Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Continuity What Continuity, Ficlet Collection, Hurt/Comfort, I Tried, Implied/Referenced Sex, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Work In Progress, light gore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-16
Packaged: 2021-01-31 18:11:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21450538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey_toiletpaper/pseuds/grey_toiletpaper
Summary: "You're never fully dressed without a smile", that's what they chorused while they sang and danced under the warring crimson sky.She was naked without her smile, both in his head and in his life.
Relationships: Alastor & Rosie (Hazbin Hotel)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 79





	A Cover is Not the Book

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Judy Garland - I'm Always Chasing Rainbows  
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6CMSjI-Znc4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that we know next to nothing about Rosie like, at all, but seeing her reference sheets ft. Alastor honestly looked so damn good that I really wanted to write something.
> 
> The sheet in question be: https://twitter.com/VivziePop/status/1080414803435302912

Travis hated two things about Hell. Well, maybe three things. Four? He doesn't know, the point is that he dislikes a fair amount of his "life" in Hell. Maybe he just hated anything in Hell in general. Either way, the first thing he specifically hated was someone getting the jump on him, and the second was the Radio Demon. So it can be understood that his reaction to the combination of both was to immediately sock it in the jaw. Or at least try to. He didn't even notice the entity's shadow gripping his wrist like a vice as he shrunk under the gaze of his seemingly unfazed target, their only company in the alley being the silence.

"Fuck do you want," Travis spits out, his voice wavering in defiance and his ears betraying him outright. He was met with silence, no sound nor even some jaunty tune emanated from the other being. His wrist was starting to hurt and Travis felt the desire to wilt a little more. The manic stare of the demon boring down on him was extremely unnerving in the silence and his head he was doing backflips over backflips.

Travis was considering trying to shake free from the demon's grasp, his wrist was hurting _a lot_ now when the other demon roughly shoved him backwards. The sudden motion sent him sprawling and before he knew it, the Radio Demon had walked away, the sharp _clacking_ of his shoes echoing on the brimstone of the alley. Not taking any chances for the demon to return, Travis sprinted to find his car, nursing the bruise starting to form under his fur as he made his way. He almost didn't hear the catcalls of a certain spider after him. Almost.

Travis felt he needed some way to make himself feel less debilitating, and maybe having three pairs of arms jack him off would help relieve him.

* * *

In truth, Alastor only wanted to spark some sort of enjoyment in himself. Being both a harbinger and distributor of chaos for decades had started to temper the flamboyant carnage of his soul. Terrifying the lowly sinner had done nothing to improve his mood and he felt his growing irritation was starting to bubble up more in himself, centred around the mark on his head. Alastor felt the fire of his powers starting to spark a little more; they were calling out, yearning to be released and to raise He- Alastor stopped himself. He had a destination in mind and he had already distracted himself enough.

Rounding the final corner of his journey, Alastor was immediately jumped by a small, red and black minion of a demon sinking its teeth into his shoulder, snarling and slobbering as it did so. Soon, others joined in, each trying to tear into his leg or rip into his arm. Yet, he paid no mind, it wasn't until one of the minions made for his microphone that his shadow tore the horde off and savagely ripped them in half one by one. The Radio Demon paid no attention to the scene, fussing over and fixing the small tears made in his clothing, still strolling as if nothing had happened. He was finally startled out of his maintenance when he almost tripped over a bloodstained arm.

Alastor took in the sight around him this time, the fluids splattered on windowpanes, some would be expected from the Exterminator's weapons. Others were slightly more... demonic in nature from the minions devouring the bodies strewn all over the street. The demon sprinted a few more blocks down to be greeted by a sight he half expected.

A bright pink broad-brimmed hat was torn apart by some minions, revealing behind it even more of the damn creatures tearing at the grey flesh of a figure draped in white. Above, an electric red sign shone "<strike>Franklin</strike> and Rosie Emporium", its theatre bulbs still humming quietly against the sounds of the minions stuffing themselves. The figure in white was not Alastor's main reason for being here, so he ignored the unsightly state of the body and impassively moved through the red doors of the emporium. Still, there was no ignoring the twinge of pain at seeing the fate of a dear friend.

The inside of the emporium was pitch black, to say the least, the only source of light being the red aura of his microphone. Even then, the floor that it revealed was barren, void of items, blood or even a minion. As if on cue, one jumped out in front of the demon, impassively staring up at him in the red glow. They stood in silence until the minion scurried away as bold yet shaky _clack__ clacks _of heels echoed from behind Alastor.

Turning around, he came face to face with a sharp-toothed smile that was not unlike his own. But, while his smile reflected manic confidence, the one before Alastor seemed forced, the furthest muscles looked strained from holding the mouth so high up. He didn't even need to look upwards to know who it was.

"My dear, you shouldn't force your smile, it's quite unhealthy for you and we would not want you hurt from expressing yourself, now would we?"

The smile didn't soften.

Alastor huffed a small, distorted sigh before looking directly at the other's eyes, whose shape matched the smile, but did not show any mirth or soul. Empty. Normally well-kept hair was frayed and parted wildly like a storm, almost distracting from the pallor of the other demon's skin. To some, it would look normal, fitting even, but Alastor was the only being left to notice it looked more sickly than cosmetic.

"Rosie. Darling, are you going to say anything? I came all this way to see-."

* * *

Rosie said nothing. Her smile did not change in any way, still pinched at the very corners as if strung up. She had watched her only family cut down by the Exterminators before being torn apart by minions. She had purged every memory of her family from the emporium, packing it away. Or, if the memory especially hurt, destroying it and discarding the remains. She had sat inside the emporium (ha, more like an_ empt-_orium) while the rest of Hell moved onwards. Except for her dearest <strike>friend</strike> associate before her.

Rosie did not speak, she_ bawled,_ collapsing herself into the Radio Demon's arms as he held her, lightly stroking the small of her back.

His presence sparked memories and a feeling she refused to acknowledge right now. Alastor had his first major kill of some long-forgotten overlord, and by chance ended up at the doors of the Emporium with manic power surging from a brilliant red X on his forehead, causing audial and physical explosions of laugh tracks and distortions to discharge off of his body.

Rosie and Franklin's arrival had been simple, two girls ending up in the wrong place for the wrong decisions, intending to survive. The Radio Demon had entered Hell with a manic drive that resonated power and the will to _thrive_.

Back then, she and Franklin had taken him inside, healed his wounds and tempered the pure malevolent force that emanated from him. She had tended to him the whole time, a recently manifested soul that had already toppled an overlord that had presided for centuries would most definitely need some guidance. Regardless of how novice she was, Rosie was a survivor in and out of this place, that counted for _something_.

It wasn't long until she had joined him in wreaking more havoc on Hell, always by his side or hiding in the shadows. If she wasn't enacting punishment on other overlords, Alastor most certainly would be dragging her into the fray of a war with another one, singing and dancing all the while.

He had told her she was the only demon with any "proper class and style" and Rosie never stopped preening for a _week_. Franklin had laughed the entire time, politely sitting in the centre of the Emporium each time Rosie came back late, teasing about her latest "outing with the darling Radio Demon" while giggling like a madhouse. She remembers then, that Franklin teased how Rosie rarely stopped smiling, and how similar hers was to her <strike>friend's</strike> associate's. It doesn't look anything like either of theirs right now.

Of course, as Alastor's carnage started to slow down, he had bonded with the pair over dinner and game nights. One time he brought his cat friend, Husk, so they could have a fun game of Monopoly. Franklin had taken a special interest in the coarse cat, opposite as they were.

Franklin was gone now, and more thoughts of her added extra weight to Rosie's shoulders, her mouth still stuck in a forced smile as she buried her head deeper into Alastor's shoulder. His soft hush and rubs only partly soothed her, the overbearing weight of her family's death hanging over her. She shouldn't feel it, Goddamnit she was a _fucking_ demon who had slaughtered thousands of souls, and yet she _does_. Her loss screeches and rips at her soul, the _rawness_ of the feeling, unlike anything she remembers experiencing since she arrived in Hell.

She doesn't want to drown out the memory of her family with something else or avoid it forever. She just wants something,_ anything_, to distract herself right in the present.

There was one thing though, but with a line that she wouldn't cross. She had hoped that one day she would never need to cross it. But Rosie's life and death had never given her slack and her emotions keep becoming increasingly unbearable. It doesn't take long for her to clasp Alastor's cheek in one hand, pulling his face towards hers while the other dances down his shirt.

"You're never fully dressed without a smile", that's what they chorused as they sang and danced under the warring crimson sky.

Her smile starts to relax, and it falls into something else as the other demon catches on, his own starting to drop, ambient static silencing quickly.

Rosie knows why Alastor hasn't ever made any move to court her, it did not stop it from being agonising, but maybe he will for her just this once.

* * *

Alastor woke up a few hours later noticing two things: his legs are intertwined with someone else's and the distinct but distant sounds of explosions and laser fire. Shelving the latter as customary turf wars, he shifts his focus elsewhere. Rosie's her face looked... not content, but peaceful, as if she hadn't had her (un)life seemingly crumble around her. When she pulled him into the kiss, burning with need and desperate longing, he had lost all sense of himself. Sex had never held any special interest to him, as a radio host there was the occasional assistant or guest who tried to come onto him, but he simply lacked the interest to pursue anything for himself,

It was always emotionless for him, no real heat, passion or even carnal desire seldom crossed his mind. The same would go for whatever other kinds of romance he had, always shutting them down when he simply didn't have the same desires. Eventually, he decided he simply didn't hold any attraction of the sort. After his first real kill, he found his calling in the thrills of the hunt, ignoring whatever desires society romanticised.

Rosie, good <strike>friend</strike> associate as she was, had been attracted to him, obvious as it was. He wasn't stupid and, even if he was, talks with a drunk Husk and gossip-hungry Niffty would have told him anyway. But his <strike>friend</strike> associate had just lost her only family and, trying to reject whatever "humanity" had surfaced, her reaction was to try to drown it out with the lust for someone she had pined for years. He knew that it was not a healthy way to deal with her grief, but neither of them had lived healthy lives in and out of Hell. So why start now?

Alastor started at that thought. Not at him letting Rosie have her way, but what its motivations and process implicated for him. When he was alive he had rejected models and beauties readily. If he knew them for years he'd turn them down harder. Yet, for some reason, he had given in to Rosie. He rubbed his head in his hands, the mark hidden on his forehead starting to itch. Was he becoming soft? Was that how these decades of boredom were affecting him? Alastor thought he had discarded every last gram of "humanity" from his soul, believing himself incapable of any amount of goodwill or deed.

Yet, his intention of placating of Rosie's desires indicated the exact opposite; for once, he had no idea what any of it meant. Unwilling to dwell on this further, he left to prepare the ingredients for her favourite dish, cringing at the further implications of this. No sound, not even a static shift was heard as he left the Emporium behind him, his mind stopping and starting with thoughts of melodies and red hats and a smile (a little more curved than his, a little more _alive_ than his) that he still hadn't seen on her face.

He was startled out of his reverie as a car reeking of sex swerved to avoid him, catching a glimpse of Travis' petrified face as he crashed while the air rented with another explosion, this time a little closer. The Radio Demon paid no mind and continued thinking to himself, strutting through Hell's streets.

"...you know, 'cause hotels are for people passing through... temporarily..."

The squeak of Lucifer's daughter was not something Alastor remembered until it rang through his eardrums. He noticed a crowd, including Crymini of all demons, gathering around the Radio Hack. Watching the princess deliver something on Katie Killjoy's station, surprisingly... His static pitch grew stronger as he stood behind the gathered demons, his interest burgeoning. It was no secret that Katie hated the princess, so long as you paid attention to where her headlines were directed. His interest did eventually begin to wane, but when the princess got up to_ sing _of all things, even his own shadow had its curiosity regained.

As the camera cut out to the two demons clashing, Alastor's thoughts were wild, his buzzing growing so loud Crymini had to slap him to shake him out of it. For one thing, the princess possessed her mother's singing talent, while maintaining the entertainment factor her father had in droves. Casting that aside, Alastor thought more on the princess' solution for overpopulation through _redemption_.

Was that what his slowly surfacing "humanity" represented? The tug for redemption? Guilt? Regret? Such ideas had not crossed his mind since he had first manifested in Hell. No, demons like Alastor did not feel the need for them, his chance for redemption was when he was alive, there was no point in trying to restore it now.

He had almost convinced himself of this until his mind drifted to Rosie's eyes in the darkness of the Emporium. They looked so empty, and her desire, her _human _desire for the love of any kind to replace what she had lost had reignited his own.

She was naked without her smile, both in his head and in his life.

The Radio Demon gazed at the hellscape around him, his eyes wandering the tops of buildings, briefly seeing the Happy Hotel in the distance until they settled upwards. The soft white globe with its huge halo obnoxiously contrasting the bloody sky had never seemed so far out of reach. Its light dazzled in ways that the denizens of Hell could not even begin to express (to him, her smile shone brighter than anything else). Could he be redeemed?

He thought back on what he had seen from the decades he had spent in Hell. Of all the demons he had seen rise and fall to the annual exterminations. Of what they had taken from him, and what they had taken from one of the few he well and truly cared for. Tearing his gaze away from the spectacle, Alastor trekked in the direction to the glitzy Happy Hotel. He still didn't believe demons were capable of redemption, but for his **friend**, he was going to damn well try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really my first fic not intended to be some cringey mess of a thirteen-year-old's transcribed wet dream. Criticism and feedback is greatly appreciated. :P


End file.
